


Bleary and Dazed

by Lies_Unfurl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Grumpy Castiel, Grumpy Dean, Human Castiel, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 12, Sharing a Bed, Sick Castiel, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 19:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11881365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lies_Unfurl/pseuds/Lies_Unfurl
Summary: Five times Dean didn't sleep with Castiel, and one time he did.





	Bleary and Dazed

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: brief mention of torture in Hell; heavily implied, but never explicitly mentioned, internalized homophobia.

I:

 

“I don’t need the bed.”

“Cas, shut up.” Dean sat heavily down on the mildew-smelling carpet, deciding to make his stand from the ground he was fighting for. “Yes, you do.”

He raised a hand before Castiel could make his case. “One, you got beat up more than I did. Don’t argue, ‘cause I saw the goblin slam you into the wall. Two, I’ve been sleeping on the floor for way longer, so it won’t bother me. Three, I said so.”

“We could share.”

“Nope.” Dean ignored the small flutter that the words brought to his chest. He didn’t know what it meant, and he didn’t want to. “Last time I shared a bed was with Sammy. I ended up on the floor with a bruise on my ass that made it impossible to sit down for a week. Never again.”

“I’m not Sam—”

“Never. Again. Plus, you’re always complaining about how you’ve got cold feet, and I really don’t want to be your heating pad. And I’ve seen how many blankets you sleep with. No point sharing when we both know you’re gonna be cocooned in them all the second I fall asleep.”

Cas harrumphed, but didn’t deny it. Dude did wear so many layers that he made Dean and Sam look underdressed. Apparently he got cold quick without his grace.

“At your advanced age, the floor will do a number on your back.”

Dean threw the bird at Cas as he lay his (admittedly aching) body down on the hard floor. “In case you forgot, you’re older than me.”

He closed his eyes as soon as he said the words, wincing both internally and externally. There were a lot of unwritten rules that had developed in the weeks since Castiel returned human. Foremost among them: _don’t be a douche and bring up the angel days_.

Dean was about to stammer out an entirely inadequate apology when a pillow beaned him in the face. “The fu—”

Before the curse finished, he was enveloped by the comforter from the motel bed, dropped unceremoniously upon him. When he wrestled it off, he was met with Castiel’s steely blue glare, peering down at him from where he sat cross-legged upon the bed. He resembled a particularly irate gargoyle, or possibly a vulture.

“I take the bed. You get a pillow and the blanket. We divide it up. That’s fair.”

“…fine,” Dean grumbled, wrapping himself up in the ugly paisley pattern. He didn’t push the case, or mention to Cas that in all the time he and Sam had done this, the stupid moose had never once offered him the quilt (nor had Dean ever given it to Sam, to be perfectly fair, but still).

That night was the most comfortable night he could recall spending on a floor. Not that he gave Cas the satisfaction of knowing that come morning.

II:

 

“It’s your _turn_ ,” Castiel growled at him two hunts later when the same thing happened. “I took it last time. Neither of us are hurt.”

“I don’t want the fucking bed, Cas.” He lay down on the ground hard, hitting his tailbone. Neither of them was hurt, but there had been another vic before they arrived at the vamp nest. He was pissed at himself for not getting there faster, and he was pissed at Cas’s inability to just shut up and follow orders, and he was pissed at the tiny niggling voice inside of his head that told him to spare Cas the worst indignities of being human. Maybe he hadn’t been there to explain the inevitable fallout of eating gas station hotdogs, but he could at least spare him the back pain from napping on a motel floor.

“You used to fight Sam to get the bed.” Cas sat down on the other side of the room, still glaring. “I saw it often enough.”

Refusing the urge to snarl out a comment about Cas’s time invisibly spying on them, Dean settled for saying, “You’re not Sam. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

“Fine.” Castiel stood up and flicked off the lights, somehow injecting the full brunt of his attitude into that lone syllable. In the dark, Dean could just see the outline of him lying down.

On the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Going the fuck to sleep.”

Dean closed his eyes. He was too tired for this shit. “I could manhandle you into that goddamn bed.”

“And chain me there? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep well in handcuffs.”

Jesus. As if he needed that image in his mind, when all he wanted to do was sleep. “Y’know what? Fine. Take the floor. But I’m _not_ taking the bed.”

“You hurt only yourself. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night. Don’t complain tomorrow about how sore you are.”

The next morning, they got up early, even by Dean’s incredibly low standards. The rest of the drive back was spent in total silence. Dean couldn’t even bring himself to make a joke about how stiff Cas was moving. It would just be too goddamn easy.

III:

The bunker always felt emptier when Sam and Eileen and Mom were off hunting on their own, and tonight was no exception. Dean wandered aimlessly. He didn’t have a hunt set up, and the world wasn’t ending now that they had Jack to keep an eye on cosmic-level shit.

There was a point in his youth that Dean had cherished boredom, the rare freedom that came with having nothing to do. That was a long time ago.

So that was how he found himself in the library, going through some boxes that the Men of Letters hadn’t catalogued. Sam was always on his ass about getting it done. Dean would never admit to him that most of his bitching about the chore was for show – the truth was, it relaxed him. On nights like this, it sometimes even put him in a mind to sleep.

It didn’t quite relax him enough to be unaware of Cas’s approach. He patted the seat beside him, not looking up from the spreadsheet into which he was currently entering file names. “You’re up early. Or late?”

“Early,” Cas confirmed. He rubbed his eyes. Kinda looked like shit, Dean thought, not unsympathetically.

“What, you still having nightmares?”

Somehow even with a bathrobe and a sleep-mussed head of hair, Cas’s glare still managed to be more than a little intimidating. “I wasn’t aware they had an expiration date.”

“That’s not what I – you know what? You’re right. Sorry. Don’t look so surprised,” he added, mildly offended at the height of Castiel’s eyebrows. He did admit when he fucked up. Most of the time.

“I meant to say, I hadn’t noticed. I’m usually good about waking up when people are having them, and I’ve slept like a baby in most of the motels we’ve been in.

Castiel shifted and looked away.

“What? Come on, man. No more secrets.”

“I sleep… better when you’re there. Well, when anyone is with me,” he hastened to add. “It just happens to be you, most of the time. When I go to bed alone, and then wake up alone, it reminds me of… things.”

Dean nodded. He knew he should press on the “things,” but. Well. Cas had made it clear when he came back that he didn’t want to talk about the place only ever referred to as “The Empty.” If the name was anything to go by, Dean had a pretty good idea of what Cas relived most nights.

For a moment, a memory surfaced of his time spent in isolation at the hands of the U.S. government. How that had broken him quicker than Hell.

“You’re not there anymore,” he finally said. “And you won’t be again.”

“I know.” Cas smiled at him, that rare curve that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It’s just hard to remember in the moment.”

“Yeah. No, I get that.” Dean rolled his shoulders, trying to think of a solution. Anything he could do to help Cas.

“Well, you’re always free to come join me for a late-night study session.” He patted the table before him, trying to pretend that his words hadn’t sounded as stupid as they definitely had.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then Cas cleared his throat and stood.

“I supposed I’d best try to get some more sleep. You should too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe. Sweet dreams, Cas.”

Dean watched his friend’s retreat, somehow feeling even more awake than he had before.

IV:

 

“Stop being such a baby, Dean. We can share. We’ve done it plenty of times before.”

Dean took a deep breath as he raised his hand to his brother, as though a pointed finger could somehow convey the intensity of the anger he was currently experiencing. “One, that was when we were kids, and could actually both fit in the same bed. Two, this is _your_ fault, so you can sleep on the damn floor.”

“ _My_ fault?” The height of Sam’s eyebrows would have been comical, had Dean not been entirely _pissed_. “How is it _my_ fault?”

“Because if we didn’t have that _thing_ with us, we could’ve stopped somewhere that actually had two rooms!”

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Castiel interjected.

It pissed Dean off to no end that he and Sam were still coordinated enough to respond in unison. “No.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and knelt down to pet the source of their problems. The Thing. 

“She’s not a thing,” Eileen said, as if she was reading his thoughts. “She’s a Newfie mix. Probably.”

Sam said she was a dog. Dean was pretty sure it was a goddamn bear that drooled all over his car and would’ve had an accident in there too, had Eileen not been incredibly attuned to her body language.

Dean tolerated the hellhound-twin for one reason: he didn’t want Sam and Eileen to move out and find a place of their own. Well, that and Castiel’s weird affinity for it. Not that he would ever acknowledge either reason aloud.

But normally it just lurked around the Bunker, out of his sight. Or it was off with Sam and Eileen on their hunts.

Never before had it been in his car.

“Look, Arya really helped out. She dug more of the grave out than you did. Didn’t you, girl?” Sam signed something, and the dog immediately extended a paw to Castiel. “She’s a good dog. Aren’t you, Arya?”

It smiled, stuck out a tongue the length of Dean’s forearm, and drooled all over Cas. He continued petting her anyway. She’d sat in the back between him and Eileen for all the driving that they’d done, and Cas had laughed more during those hours than he had in all the time since Jack brought him back.

“She doesn’t deserve to be stuck in the car all night. I’m sorry this is the only pet-friendly motel in the area, and I’m sorry they didn’t have more rooms. But hey, at least they’re queens, not twins.”

“If we were at a normal motel, she would _not_ spend all night in Baby. She’d be outside. This is ridiculous.” Dean sat down on the floor, realizing belatedly that he looked more like a child throwing a tantrum than an adult man laying down the law. “You and Eileen get one bed, Cas gets the other. I sleep down here.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, at the same time Cas said, “This is ridiculous.”

“Cas and I could share a bed,” Eileen offered, winking at Castiel. “So you and Sam get the other.”

“Also, I can sleep next to my wife, and you and Cas get the other. That’s a possibility too.” Sam took a protective step towards Eileen, who rolled her eyes. Arya woofed.

“She’s not _technically_ your wife. You’re both legally dead,” Dean grumbled, ignoring something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. “Sam, if we share, one of us is going to end up on the floor by midnight. It happens every time,” he said, raising his hand to ward off Sam’s interruption. Sam gave a somewhat grudging nod of agreement. “So I’d rather just take the floor, instead of getting thrown there.”

“Why don’t you and Cas share?”

“Dean doesn’t like sharing with me.” Castiel stood, still playing with the dog’s Dumbo-sized ears. “We’ve never done it before when similar situations arose, and I assumed he’d refuse to tonight. Which is why I offered to take the floor.”

“You’ve never – all these months you’ve been on the road together and—” Sam paused and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he was looking at Dean with an expression Dean, despite the fact that he basically had a B.A. in Sammy’s bitchfaces, couldn’t decipher.

“Y’know what, Dean? Sleep on the floor. Eileen and I’ll share, and Cas gets a bed to himself.” 

Sam then muttered something that sounded vaguely like, “After putting up with this shit for so long, he deserves it,” but when asked to repeat himself, he firmly refused.

Castiel was generous enough to give him a pillow and the comforter from his bed again, much to Sam’s chagrin. Dean appreciated the gesture, though as it turned out, the blanket was unnecessary. The 90 lb. of dog that lay over him all night, drooling in his face, was warmer than Dean would have liked.

V:

Dean woke up with a sneeze, which triggered a hacking fit, which brought about a sensation he hadn’t felt since he was twelve years into Hell and Alistair had shoved hot pokers down his throat.

Not that that was a comparison he was particularly fond of. He had the vague idea that it had been brought on by a recent nightmare, but his mind wasn’t clear enough for him to be sure.

“Dean?”

He blinked and squinted at the source of the voice. Castiel. Sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding his head funny and rubbing his neck.

“Cas?”

Cas’s free hand shot out and landed on his forehead. Dean tried to jerk away, but the sudden movement just made him start coughing again.

“Your fever has broken. Good. I was getting worried.”

Dean reached up behind him and pulled what he now knew to be a damp washcloth from the back of his neck. “Shit. How long was I out of it?”

“You’ve been in and out of sleep for…” Castiel glanced down at his phone. “…close to twenty hours now. You’ve been sick for about two days, but that was the worst of it. I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. In a chair? Dude, you should’ve just dragged some blankets in and slept on the floor.”

Castiel looked away. In the dim light of his bedside lamp, Dean could just make out a sheepish expression. 

“I don’t like sleeping on the floor,” Cas admitted. “It hurts my back. I thought that by sitting in a chair, I’d avoid falling asleep altogether. It didn’t work.”

“How long’ve you been up? And what day is it?”

“It’s Thursday, and I’ve been up since you started getting ill. Mary would have come, but the werewolves in Connecticut are proving more difficult to deal with than she anticipated. And you told me repeatedly not to bother Sam and Eileen.”

Dean nodded, remembering. His brother and sort-of sister-in-law had been hunting in California when they realized that they’d never had anything close to a honeymoon. Kid was finally getting his beach day.

Then another thought struck him. “Wait, Thursday? Last thing I remember was you forcing some sort of crap down my throat, and that was definitely Tuesday.”

“That sounds right. And it was herbal tea with honey. Not ‘crap.’ I should get you more. You need to stay hydrated.”

Cas stood up and winced, hand going back to what Dean knew must be an incredibly sore neck. 

“I’m fine. There’s water right here.” Dean picked up the water bottle, doubtlessly put there by Castiel, and drank almost half of it to prove his point. Setting the container back on the nightstand, he looked back at Castiel, who was still trying to massage himself one-handed. “You kinda look like shit. Go get some ibuprofen and a heating pad to put on your neck, and then get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine! You need calories and to make sure your fever doesn’t return, and…” Castiel swayed on his feet. Dean rolled his eyes.

“All right.” Decision made, Dean swung his feet over the edge of the bed. The room momentarily transformed into a spinning kaleidoscope of blurry images. He closed his eyes, waiting it out. When he opened them, Cas was watching him carefully with a frown.

“I’m gonna go take a shower. Bath,” he amended, apparently predicting Castiel’s objection, because he shut his mouth and just frowned. “Look, I’m not going to pass out, I’m achy, and I’ve been sweating for the past day or so. You’re more likely to fall asleep in the tub than I am. Take a shower and go to bed yourself, okay, Cas?”

“But—”

“ _Okay,_ Cas?” He glared at Cas with all the sternness he could muster, as if Cas hadn’t been helping him go to the bathroom more recently than Dean cared to think.

It was Cas who broke the stare-off, involuntarily closing his eyes as a yawn washed over him. Dean grinned and stood, clapping him on the shoulder. “Nothing a warm shower and twelve hours in bed won’t fix. Go get it, man.”

They went off to their separate bathrooms then, and as Dean sank into the steaming water, he couldn’t help but think that this was one of the better decisions he’d made in his life.

i:

 

It took Dean almost two hours before he was ready to go back to bed again, and by that point, he was almost ready to collapse. His bath had wooed him into sleepiness, but Cas had insisted that they eat something afterwards. And drink the same tea that Dean had vague memories of Castiel urging him to swallow while he was feverish and complaining.

Dean hadn’t complained this time. He was grateful for what Cas had done. As they sat at the kitchen table and tiredly chewed on slightly burnt toast, he’d gotten a better look at Castiel. At the dark circles beneath his eyes, in particular, and how he slumped in his chair, head still tilted just so from his stiff neck. He looked too pale in the dark green pajama set he favored.

He was used to seeing humanity written upon Castiel’s features, but sometimes it still hurt.

They had eaten in silence, and then he’d seen that Cas went off to bed. Much as he’d wanted to do the same, he had decided to be a good brother and son and made a few phone calls, despite the late hour of the night. Mom was almost done with the hunt, and Sam and Eileen’s “honeymoon” was going along just swimmingly. Though he didn’t envy whoever rented the beach house next. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of the smell of ocean-soaked dog.

His throat was killing him by the time Sam hung up, and the world was a bit floaty around the edges. Still, he paused at Castiel’s door on the way to his own bedroom. Had to make sure that he hadn’t gotten up to try to force more tea on him, or make more cold compresses for the back of his neck.

Dean frowned as soft noises reached his ears. Through the haze left by days of sickness, he vaguely recalled Castiel mentioning nightmares a few weeks ago. 

“Cas?”

He waited for a response. When none came, he let himself inside.

Without the barrier of the door between them, Dean could make out Castiel’s words more clearly. Which unfortunately didn’t do much to improve his understanding of the situation – it seemed that in his dreams, Cas reverted to Enochian. Dean caught a few words he knew from various texts and spells he’d encountered. “Dark.” “Control.” “Pain.”

He sat at the foot of the bed and shook Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas. Hey. Cas, wake up.”

Cas stilled and then, without warning, his eyes opened and he sat up, gasping. “No!”

“Hey! Hey, calm down. Cas, it’s just me.” Dean tensed, ready to defend himself if the fog of sleep made Cas violent. Dean had pulled a gun on Sam more than once during his worse nightmares.

A moment of staring at each other, though, and then Castiel sagged back against his pillows. He reached over and turned on the lamp on his nightstand.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you,” he said abruptly. “I know it doesn’t mean a lot. But when I was in the Empty, the hardest part was knowing you were out there. And I knew you were capable. But one of the last things I did was heal your leg, and I didn’t even realize the significance of it. That it would be the last time I could help you.”

“Hey. Where’s all this coming from, Cas? Of course you still help. You just spent two fricking days sitting next to my sickbed.” On a hunch, he leaned over and pressed the back of his hand to Cas’s forehead. “That explains it.”

Cas blinked and tilted his head as much as he could with his still-stiff neck.

Dean sighed. “You’re hot. And clammy. At once. Dude, you caught whatever I’m just getting over.”

Cas frowned and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m going to go read.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and swayed as soon as he started to stand. Dean grabbed his wrist and forced him back down on the mattress. 

“Nope. You’re not spreading this to the library.” Never mind that the whole bunker was probably contaminated already. “Sit here. I’m going to grab the meds I was taking and bring you some, and then you’re going to get back to sleep. Okay?”

“No. I’ve already slept. Dean…” Cas closed his eyes, and his next words sounded as though they came through gritted teeth. “The nightmares don’t get better the second time around. Trust me when I say this is as restful as my night will get.”

“Then I’ll stay with you.” He was almost as surprised as Castiel looked to hear the words come out of his mouth, but he pressed on. “You said it helps to have someone sleeping in the same room, right? Well, I’m here and I need to sleep. So I’ll take the floor.”

“No.” Pale as he was, Cas still stuck a hell of a lot of grit into single syllables. “You’re sick. I’ll take the floor.”

“You’re sick too. You need the bed more than I do.”

They glared at each other for a moment. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. 

And then Dean sighed, and looked away. “This is stupid,” he muttered.

“I agree. Go back to your room, Dean. I’ll be fine.”

“Not what I meant. Look, there’s two of us, your bed is a pretty good size…” Dean shifted, finding a sudden fascination in the pattern of the patchwork quilt. “It might get hot if you’re feverish, but until then, why don’t we just share?”

“Share? A bed?”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want—”

Cas lifted the covers. “Get in.”

Dean rolled his eyes and headed to the door, knowing that if he lingered, he’d inevitably accept the offer. “Lemme get you something to take first.”

He headed to the first-aid supplies, feeling more lightheaded than ever, for reasons that he wasn’t sure were related to his cold. He grabbed pills and some water, and walked back to Castiel’s room. His thoughts were separate from his body, as if some other force were controlling his feet.

Dean paused outside the door to Castiel’s room, leaning his head against the cool metal. Part of him was saying this was a mistake. Part of him wanted nothing more than to lie down next to Castiel and sleep until they both were healthy again.

Part of him thought he was being supremely dumb, given that he had definitely faced worst, and part of him thought he would be justified in waiting until Cas was asleep, and then setting an air mattress up on the floor.

He gritted his teeth, stood straight, and opened the door. 

“Cas?” he asked, frowning. In the dark, he could just make out Castiel as he sat back up.

“Dean. You came back.”

Dean rolled his eyes to distract himself from the lump in his throat created by Castiel’s unstated assumption. “Of course I did. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

He sat down at the end of the bed, shaking out two pills. Holding them out with the water bottle, he said, “Here. Take these.”

Castiel obeyed without arguing. If Dean hadn’t been sure that he was sick, he was absolutely certain now.

“Good. Now budge over.” Dean stood, let his grey bathrobe fall to the floor, and then, taking a deep breath, climbed under the covers that Castiel was so kindly holding up. He made sure to lie down on his right, so he was facing away from Castiel.

The bed was cramped. Of course it was. His back was pressed flush with Castiel’s, and Castiel’s feet were lying over his. Castiel’s extremely cold, possibly hypothermic feet. Jesus.

He rolled over until he was facing Castiel. Because it felt unnatural to talk to him without looking at him. That was it. “I know your feet are always cold, but are they usually _this_ cold?”

“I’ve always found humanity a chilly state of being.” He sounded congested, more so than he had when Dean awoke him. Without thinking, Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel’s torso, resting his palm flat on Cas’s sternum. He pressed his other hand to Castiel’s spine, frowning when he felt clammy skin.

“Dean? What are you—”

“Shhh. Inhale. Good. Exhale.” Beneath his hands, Dean could feel a faint rumble. “You’re congested. Are you having trouble breathing?”

“Beyond the usual trouble remembering to breathe, no, not really.” Cas was quiet a moment, and then added, “I was coughing a bit while you were asleep. But it hasn’t gotten worse.”

“Hmm.” Dean moved his hand up, concerned. “Your heart rate feels normal.”

“Does it?”

Dean paused. “Actually, it’s speeding up a little.”

“Maybe you should keep it there. Just to make sure.”

“Nah, dude. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” He drew his hand away, prepared to wrap it around his own torso and go to sleep in his own sad embrace.

And stopped.

Because Castiel was holding his wrist in a grip as tight as any he’d ever made as angel.

“I think I’m feeling feverish,” Cas said hesitantly. “Perhaps you should check?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but placed his hand upon Castiel’s forehead anyway. He absentmindedly brushed away a few strands of sweaty hair. “Yep. Pretty feverish.”

“Okay.” Cas sighed. “All right. I’ll try to sleep now. Thank you for everything, Dean.”

“Night.” He pressed a kiss into Castiel’s hair, and then rolled over.

It took about thirty seconds before he shot back up again. 

“What the fuck—”

“It’s a sign of care and affection. Doubtless, you did it countless times for Sam when he was sick. A habit when faced with a hurt you can’t control. Now go to sleep.”

Dean slowly lay back down again, feeling dizzier than ever. 

“It’s just because I’m still kinda sick.” He regretted the words as soon as they hung in the air. He knew they were lies. He didn’t want to think about why that was, but he knew all the same.

“Of course.” Dean heard Castiel adjusting himself on the mattress. A moment later, an arm was slung over him, and there was a soft tickle on his neck that felt suspiciously like Castiel’s breathe. 

He almost asked what the hell Cas thought he was doing. 

Almost. 

A moment later, he could feel Castiel’s breathing evening out. The tickling came slower, and though Cas still sounded congested, he seemed peaceful as well.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. It wasn’t like he could pull his sick friend out of the best sleep he’d gotten in days. That’d be a dick move, and for all his flaws, Dean tried to avoid being an overt dick.

And if the morning found him rolled over and nose-to-nose with Castiel, if he was holding Cas and warming his icy feet with his own, well. Anything to speed up a sick friend’s path to health. And if even when Cas was better, Dean came by his room every now and then when the nightmares were particularly bad? Just doing what any good friend would do.

And it wasn’t his fault it was cheaper to buy a room with one bed.

And it wasn’t his fault he sleepily kissed Cas good morning once. Or twice.

(The ring was his fault, though. He purchased that deliberately.)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the classic "Go the Fuck to Sleep."
> 
> Find me/talk to me/prompt me on Tumblr @lies-unfurl


End file.
